


and you can tell everybody

by the north remembers (jaburr)



Category: Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Explicit Sex, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Shameless Bottom!Richard, roleplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaburr/pseuds/the%20north%20remembers
Summary: “We could always run through the scenes leading up to it, if that would help you. Don’t have to be nervous with me, old fruit.” Taron says, and there it is, the stupid idea, tumbling out of his mouth and into the silent pub.





	and you can tell everybody

**Author's Note:**

> madderton is *chef kiss*
> 
> title is from your song by elton john, and i totally skimmed the roleplaying leading to sex from the fantastic work There is a Tavern in the Town by the author musette22. absolutely fantastic work that i love.

“So you like the song, then?” Taron blinks owlishly behind the ridiculous glasses at Richard- John Reid. 

“Not quite as much as the singer.” Richard sways a little, sitting on the wood stoop next to Taron, close, and  _ fuck,  _ Taron thinks,  _ he’s bloody convincing.  _ Dexter calls cut, and they’re wrapping for the night. As easily as he’d stepped into John, Rich steps out, smiling that easy smile across to Taron. 

“Good take, mate.” Richard says, allowing Taron to pull him up off the step. 

“Back atcha, was brilliant. You play a convincing money chasing shithead.” Taron throws his arm over Richard, ignores the way his shoulders instantly relax underneath the weight. 

Richard laughs, scrubs a hand over his face. “Fucking lovely, maybe that’s what I’ll be typecast as from now on.” They walk step in step to the makeup trailer, chatting easily about the scenes that had been shot today. 

Neither of them mentioned tomorrow, what was  _ next  _ for Elton John and John Reid respectively, and it wasn’t like they were avoiding it. Taron knew it was unavoidable, knew it when they’d cast him as Elton, and he’d accepted knowing full well what the movie entailed. The part for Reid hadn’t been cast yet, and when he’d met Richard the easy feeling of acting out a sex scene had shot right out of him like a cork out of a bottle. Richard was attractive, and that was at first not a problem. Taron could look, and he was thankful if he had to pretend to fuck another man that it was Richard, because those eyes, and those lips and Richard’s soft hair and hard jawline were not hard to look at. Then he had to go and be possibly the kindest, softest gentlest person Taron’d ever met and that’s when it had gotten complicated. So he didn’t bring the topic round, rather left it on the back burner until it was upon them and inevitable. 

Dex had decided that they’d save that scene for near last, give Taron and Richard time to build up. So they’d made out, and that wasn’t quite what Taron had expected, it’s much less hot to have your tongue down someone’s throat when you’re being  _ directed _ on how to do it. 

“Want to get a drink at the hotel?” Richard had changed while Taron was reminiscing on stubble rash, hair slightly mused from the wig cap and still smiling. 

“Desperately.” Taron says, and Rich looks as if he’s about to offer to split a cab when Jaime comes rushing in, flopping down next to Taron and chattering excitedly about the scenes they’d shot, and  _ they are good, have you watched them back yet!  _ By the time Jaime’s given him a chance to answer Richard had disappeared, and Taron was not disappointed, not at all. 

He finally breaks away, exhaustion hitting him heavy as he changes in his own trailer, running out to hail a cab to the hotel they’ve been put up in. He nearly falls asleep in the backseat, chin knocking his chest and jolting him back awake. The ride isn’t long enough for him to get a proper nap in, but he pays the cabbie and thanks him before sliding out, weaving into the quaint lobby and down the stairs to the small hotel pub. Richard is at the bar, wearing a dark blue sweater and jeans and he looks fantastic, even in the dim light, and Taron thinks maybe he should’ve just gone to bed. He’s given up pretending he doesn’t have feelings for his friend-his costar- and they have to film a bloody  _ sex scene  _ in the morning and he’s going to get hard. Hasn’t quite figured out how he’ll play that off, but he’s an actor for christ sakes, and he’ll figure it out. 

“Hey T, ya made it.” Richard’s accent is even thicker than usual, he’s probably tired, Taron muses, and he sits in the stool next to him, rests his hands on the bar and drums the wood. The place is empty, it’s nearly a quarter to one and Taron’s thankful that it’s so quiet. 

“Hey yourself.” Taron grins at him, politely orders two beers from the bartender and slides one to Richard as they’re placed in front of him. 

“You given any thought to the scene tomorrow?” Richard takes a drink, eyes closed, head tilted back as he swallows, and Taron tries to pretend that he hasn’t been thinking about it for the past month.

“A little, yeah. I think that it’s written well, you know, it’s not just senseless fucking, it’s loving, and it’ll be good.” He says, and that’s casual enough. Richard raises an eyebrow at him. “For the movie, I mean. It’s part of Elton’s story.” Taron adds quickly, and Richard nods. He gulps at his beer, ignoring the way it burns down into his throat. 

“I’ve given it some thought too, and I just hope I’m ready. It’s quite nerve wracking to be naked in front of fifty people. To be frank I’m quite nervous.” Richard confesses, and Taron has a terrible idea, so he stays silent and takes another drink of his beer. Richard just looks at him, one of those soft looks Taron had grown accustomed to, big blue eyes wet and gentle. He often got these looks when Richard wanted something, sneaky bastard. 

“We could always run through the scenes leading up to it, if that would help you. Don’t have to be nervous with me, old fruit.” Taron says, and there it is, the stupid idea, tumbling out of his mouth and into the silent pub. Richard looks surprised, then grateful. 

“That’s not a terrible idea.” He smiles, thumbing the lip of his beer bottle. Taron smiles back, clapping him on the shoulder. They both take a moment, deep breaths to get into character, and Taron sighs, scoots a little closer to Richard until their knees knock. Richard starts with his lines, and Taron’s getting lost, lost in his eyes and his smile, the way he tilts his head to look at him, and he’s supposed to speak now, pauses like he’s really in character. 

“So you like the song, then?” The words fall off his tongue, and they aren’t in the hotel pub anymore, they’re on a little wooden step somewhere in LA, just them. 

“Not quite as much as the singer.” Rich replies, easy, looking up and down Taron as if he’s appraising. Taron feels himself flush, neck hot, and this is where they’d cut usually, there’s something in between the two scenes he’s been told, and he doesn’t know where to go from here. They’re just staring at each other, holding their breath, and Richard sucks his bottom lip under his teeth, gently worrying at it and  _ bloody fucking hell _ that’s  _ hot.  _ Taron doesn’t care about the unspoken “what do we do now, scenes over”, hanging above them, he moves closer still, nose bumping at Richard’s cheek, mouths nearly brushing. He gives him a moment to back away, because sure they’re acting, but Taron’s not going to ruin their friendship over a kiss. He’s not.

Except Richard’s suddenly gently pressing into him, lips meeting his soft, hand coming to rest at his hip, and the angle is all off, but Taron doesn’t care much, presses back. It’s chaste at first, until he can’t take the innocence of it all anymore, kisses harder and weaves his fingers into the hair at Richard’s nape, swiping his tongue across where he’d been biting his lip. Richard pants a little, parting his lips and nearly hopping off the barstool, moving to wedge himself between Taron’s thighs. He’s pliant, letting Taron explore his mouth, hands running up and down his rib cage, and Taron moves his hands down, gropes at Richard’s arse over his jeans and he ruts into his leg, and they should probably stop, Taron thinks, but Richard is warm and whimpers when Taron nips into his mouth. 

“That was, good.” Taron manages to say as they break apart, both panting for air and Richard looks debauched, lips a cherry red. 

“Yeah, it was.” He replies, smiling again, and Taron feels his self control slipping. 

“It’s getting late, I’d better go up to my room, early start and all that.” It’s a lame excuse, and judging by the look that crosses his face Richard knows he won’t be sleeping anytime soon.

“Right, right, uh, I’ll go up with you.” Richard flashes his room card. “Same floor and all, you know.” And Taron does know, he’d forgotten, and that happened when you had a lap full of pure sex personified. He forgives himself, slides across enough quid to cover both beers and the tip, a little extra because the poor guy had gotten a  _ show,  _ and they both amble to the lift, silent. 

The doors shut agonizingly slow, and Taron silently prays to any god that’s listening that nobody tries to step on with them. “You feel any better about tomorrow?” He supplies, and they’re still standing so close, close enough that he can smell Richard’s cologne hanging on his sweater. 

“A bit.” The air between them is tense, in a way it’s never been, and he supposes that happens when you make out with your best friend. He doesn’t like it, the thickness of it. He shouldn’t do this, probably, Taron thinks, shoving Richard up against the wall of the lift hard and kissing him again. The breath punches out of Rich as he tries to kiss him back, hands roaming, titling his head back to kiss Taron better. He shoves his hand up the front of Richard’s shirt, fingers roaming over smooth skin, pinches at his nipple until he moans against Taron’s mouth, breathy. 

“You want to do this?” Taron breaks away, hand still pinning Richard to the wall. “You tell me right now if you want this, really truly.” His voice is gravely, more than he’s ever heard it, doesn’t even sound like him. 

Richard gazes at him, neck craned. “Yeah, I want to. Been thinking about this for a spell now.” He’s sultry without even trying to be, and Taron shivers, full body, because  _ jesus.  _

“So’ve I.” Richard draws in a shuddering breath, slots his leg in between Taron’s and dives in to kiss him again, hard. The lift finally dings at their floor and they stumble out of the doors, rutting like teenagers against each other. He barely gets the key in the door, Rich latched on his neck, sucking at the skin between his jaw and shoulder, nipping. They nearly trip over each other into the room, and the door barely shuts before he’s pushing Richard’s sweater over his hair, throwing him down onto the couch underneath him. Richard huffs, yanks Taron down on top of him. They kiss hungrily, biting into each other’s mouths, and Richard is making the sweetest sounds against Taron’s mouth. He licks across his collarbone, bites down his chest, leaving marks and he shouldn’t, wardrobe will kill him for this tomorrow, he knows, but Rich is _ whimpering _ , and Taron can’t stop. He curls his fingers into the waistband of Richard’s jeans, tentatively brushing against his cock, and he bucks his hips against Taron’s, gasping. It’s so much different when someone isn’t yelling at you to cut, and it’s  _ good,  _ and why haven’t they done this before? 

“Take some clothes off already.” Richard tells him, soft against the shell of his ear, kissing his neck and Taron pulls away, hand still down Richard’s pants, pulls off his shirt and at the satisfied sound beneath him dives back down to kiss Richard’s stomach. 

“Bed?” Taron can’t imagine the position Richard’s trapped in, crunched against the arm of the couch is comfortable, and Rich just nods, grabbing Taron by a belt loop and pulling him towards the bedroom. They linger next to it, dancing around each other, and Taron can’t really believe  _ they’re  _ doing this, and he wants it, more than anything he’s wanted before, knows that much to be true. He all but throws Rich onto the bed, climbs down on top of him and settles across his hips, mouth roaming across his chest as Richard works at his pants, pulling at them, and Taron lets his hands move across Richard’s ribs of their own accord, claiming. 

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, fucking christ.” Taron says, and he’s thought it so many times it feels foreign across his tongue. He pulls Richard’s jeans off, worrying them down his legs and settles between them, palming him through his boxers and Richard just pants, pulls him up for another searing kiss. 

“I’m not going to be able to do this tomorrow, and not get hard, you beautiful bastard.” Richard whispers against his mouth, scratches his back as Taron pulls his underwear off, still rubbing his cock. And Taron laughs a little at that, because he had been  _ worried _ about looking stupid, worried about scaring Richard off yet here they were and that’s funny.

“Makes two of us.” Taron stops touching him, digs through the table by the bed until he finds the travel sized bottle of lube, holds it up like a prize and Richard laughs, pulls him down and smiles against his mouth, kissing him again. 

“Wardrobe is going to kill you for leaving so many marks.” Richard teases, arching up into the touch anyways and Taron leans to lick at the red marks already bruising across his neck.

“Tell them you had a triste with a beautiful young lady you met at the bar.” Taron coats his fingers with the lube, and he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but when he presses a finger into Richard that seems to be right. 

“Yeah, and I’ll add that she had a taste for human flesh.” Richard squeaks, pressing down against Taron’s finger, and he hesitates a moment before adding another. 

“Maybe she does, Rich. That’s probably a kink now, isn’t it?” Taron curls his fingers, drags a moan out of Richard and that seems to be right. 

“Yeah. Y’know,” Richard pauses as Taron pulls his fingers out, moves slightly to stroke his cock before slowly pushing in again. Rich chokes on his breath, pulling Taron down to kiss him, slick, and Taron doesn’t move for a moment, settles, just kissing him unhurriedly. “I didn’t think we’d be such a cliche.”

“And how do you figure that?” Taron scrapes his nails lightly along Richard’s hip, thrusting slowly. Richard’s curls are suddenly loose across his forehead, mused from Taron’s fingers, and he must’ve not put all that hair gel in, not that Taron minds much.

“Just thought all that terrible on screen kissing would have created a bit more of an impasse.” Rich laughs, eyes crinkling, and Taron thrusts in again, watching the cerulean hue nearly give way to inky black. 

“Don’t know what you mean by  _ that _ , I’ve never wanted to shag anyone more after Dexter yelled at me to move my hand from your face because I was blocking the ‘perfect shot’.” 

“Mm, shut up about Dex while you’re fucking me, yeah?” 

Taron’s surprised, and maybe he shouldn’t be, at how right this feels. He  _ knows _ Richard, and he’s his best friend, and so this isn’t as strange as he’d thought, it’s good and right and he never wants to stop hearing the noises Rich is making, because he’s started to get more comfortable with hitting that spot he’d found with his fingers, and they’re both coming a bit undone, at a loss for words. Richard jerks into his hand a few more times, whimpering and Taron tries to warn him, groans something out before coming, Richard a stroke behind him. They collapse together, hot and sweaty and Richard cards his fingers through the hair at Taron’s neck, it’s gotten quite long for the movie. 

“I should probably tell you something, Taron.” Richard props his chin on Taron’s chest, gazing up at him and Taron, on instinct, sweeps the hair off his forehead. 

“Can it wait until I’ve recovered from the post sex haze?” 

“Not really.” Richard leans up to kiss him, soft. “Wasn’t really nervous about tomorrow. Just wanted an excuse to finally snog you off camera.” 

“Uh,” Taron says eloquently. Richard laughs a little, trails his fingers to rest on Taron’s chest. “Should’ve known you weren’t nervous, half the UK has seen your bum already.” Taron finds the words, pulls Rich closer until they’re slotted together, sighs. Even in the dim light he can see the bruises leading the parade down his neck, bright and hard to ignore. Taron considers marching into wardrobe tomorrow and announcing that’s his work,  _ thank you very much. _

“Yet you still haven’t watched the show. You’re a bad friend.” Richard quips, pulling the comforter to his shoulders.

“I’ve been quite busy, you know.” Taron tells him, burrowing under the blanket until he’s covered too. “Making a movie with you and all.” 

“I watched all the Kingsman movies!” Richard protests half heartedly, kisses Taron anyways. Taron can’t help but smile against his mouth, warm and soft. He thinks they should probably clean up, makes a sorry grab for the tissues next to the bed. 

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, to make up for being such a horrible friend.” 

“Bacon and eggs sound nice.” 

“Then bacon and eggs it is.” Richard yawns, blue eyes misty, and Taron thinks in that moment, they are the sweetest eyes he’s ever seen. He curls into Taron then, fingers skimming his chest, and it’s right.

He wakes up early, too early, they don’t have to be on set for another four hours and Richard is slumped across his chest, snoring and Taron doesn’t know how he slept through  _ that, _ but it’s kind of cute. He untangles himself from Richard who is an extremely heavy sleeper- Taron could probably kick him off the bed and he wouldn’t even notice- and pads into the kitchenette, rummaging around for eggs and the bacon he’d been saving. He’d had to buy a skillet, and at the time Jaime had teased him for it, but Taron was glad he had, it proved to be extremely useful on the rare occasions he wasn’t living off of craft services and takeout. He’s barely started to brew the coffee before Richard comes up behind him, presses a soft kiss on his cheek before flopping down onto the couch. 

“It’s a bit early for you to be up, isn’t it?” Richard yawns, curling his toes around the lip of the sofa. Taron sets the coffee to brew, abandons their breakfast to drape across the couch next to Richard.

“Yes, but I believe you were promised bacon and eggs and what kind of friend would I be if I fucked you and didn’t even make sure you were properly fed?” 

“A particularly bad one. Right up there with the people who don’t watch their friends’ television shows.” 

“Oh god,” Taron groans theatrically, just to see Richard smile. “I’m scum. Absolutely rubbish. Throw me in the bloody bin, Richard.” 

“Coffee first. I’m sure your stunt double can romp with me in bed just as well as you can.” 

“Tosser.” Taron ruffles his hair affectionately, angles for a kiss like it’s a routine they’ve established. 

He reluctantly goes back to the stove- Richard half dressed is much more enticing- and they chatter nonsense while the bacon pops in the little pan next to the eggs. He tries not to stare too much at the bites littering Richard’s throat, the way they bob with his adams’ apple when he swallows down a drink of his coffee. They finish breakfast and Taron abandons the dishes in the sink, opts for letting Richard pin him up against the counter and kiss him, because that’s better than cleaning by a landslide. 

“You know, we still have,” Richard stops kissing along his jaw to check the oven clock. “About two hours before we need to be on set, and you stink.” 

“Was that your roundabout, cruel way of asking me if I want to have sex in the shower?” 

“Did it work?”

“Yes.” Taron pulls his sweats off, discards them on the back of the couch and Richard nearly chases him into the bathroom. The water is scalding, not that either of them complain much, and it’s a small shower but they’re making it work as best they can. Richard drops to his knees, trails his nails across Taron’s thighs and looks up expectantly. The look alone is enough to make Taron nearly come, all want and lust and his eyes are so blue, water running rivers down his temples. Richard just stares up at him, takes him in his mouth and Taron feels like maybe he should try and wipe the water from his eyes, but his legs are turning to putty, and Rich is  _ fucking fantastic  _ at this, as he is at everything else. He feels his hips stutter of their own volition, and Richard gags, tears mixing with the hot spray of the water but he doesn’t let up, and Taron is coming, embarrassingly fast, down his best friend’s throat and Richard looks like he couldn’t be happier. 

“You’re fantastic. Have I told you that you’re fantastic, and I like you?” Taron pulls him up against him, the shower starting to run cold. 

“Yes, but I’m quite fond of hearing it, so you can keep telling me.” 

“You’re fantastic.”

“And?”

“And,” Taron kisses him, soft and unhurried and hot, licks into his mouth before pulling back, touching their noses together. “I like you quite a bit.” 

“Mm. Shame we have to go to work and  _ pretend _ that we like each other all day.” 

“It’s really a shame that I have to undress you all over again in an hour, when I’ve got you naked right now.” 

“Your  _ stunt double _ will be undressing me in an hour, thank you very much. I look forward to it.” Richard tweaks his nose, hands him the soap and they quickly rinse before getting out and dressed for work. Richard steals one of Taron’s shirts, wears his jeans from the night before and it’s the most casual Taron has seen him dressed in a while. 

“My stunt double is a lucky man.” Taron quips, texting Jaime that they’re on their way to set, tries his best to ignore the way his t-shirt doesn’t  _ really  _ cover the marks on Richard’s neck. 

The girls in the makeup trailer  _ are  _ quite cross with Richard, smacking him upside the head as soon as he sits down. Taron tries not to laugh as the lacquer is applied to his teeth, catching Richard’s over exaggerated pout in the mirror. 

“Of all the days you had to go and get snogged Richard,  _ honestly. _ ” Sharon, the girl applying the makeup to his chest and neck says, glancing at Taron in the mirror who is laughing through his clenched teeth. “You did this, didn’t you?” She narrows her eyes and Richard starts laughing too, as she finally gives up trying to cover the marks. 

“I’m sorry, Sharon.” Taron tries to appear sheepish, to no avail. Sharon just glares at him, smacking Richard one more time before fitting the wig cap over his hair. 

“No you’re  _ not.”  _ Richard kicks him in the shin, in turn making Sharon laugh, which seems to resolve the situation a bit. She teases them both,  _ you couldn’t have held off until tomorrow?  _ And Taron finally gets to sit back in his chair, watching Richard blush and stutter about how it was sort of unexpected, and he decides he likes that, and decides he’ll be creating situations like this one for as long as he can. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. as always, comments, kudos, questions and concerns (or praise) are welcomed and appreciated!


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